


Fuck Around and Find Out

by ar_lath_ma



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Crack, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Knotting, M/M, Rimming, Smut, Top Derek Hale, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24389563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ar_lath_ma/pseuds/ar_lath_ma
Summary: It all began with a bet, and Stiles has never been one to turn them down.Or,five times Stiles pranks Derek (harmlessly!), and one time Derek gets him back.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 21
Kudos: 202
Collections: Sterek Goodness





	Fuck Around and Find Out

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure fluff, honestly. I don't think we're going to find any angst in this bad boy. Also yes, I was inspired by the meme lmao the title says it all
> 
> leave comments and kudos because you love me ;-;
> 
> UNEDITED. Will be edited later. I like posting without an edit because I'm a glutton for attention. LOVE ME

It all begins with a bet. And everyone knows Stiles has never been one to back down from anything, especially when it involves Derek.

“I don’t know why you think it wouldn’t work,” Stiles says with a snort. He licks his finger clean of Cheeto dust then points at Derek accusingly, wiggling his toes against Scott’s thigh. Scott attempts to push himself away but he’s as far as the sofa will allow him to go. Stiles grins. “You’re not as smart as you think you are. I could pull one over on you. Easy.”

Scott speaks before Derek can even open his mouth to answer, pushing Stiles’s legs off his lap and back onto the floor. “Pranking a werewolf isn’t easy, Stiles. We can smell everywhere you’ve been; everything you’ve touched.” 

Stiles’s feet land upon Derek’s newly acquired carpet with a thud. Stiles was glad he had finally convinced the idiot alpha to invest in some sort of cushioning for his poor, human limbs. Well, technically that wasn’t how it had happened. Stiles may have “borrowed” the alpha’s credit card and purchased it all on his own while Derek slept in his disgustingly empty apartment. But Derek hadn’t turned it away, and had barely said a word about the credit card, to Stiles’s surprise. He hadpushed Stiles against the wall and dared him to try it again, but really, his reaction hadn’t been _all_ that bad. 

“You have no idea what I’m capable of, young Padawan,” Stiles rights himself and licks the rest of his orange-stained fingers. He reaches towards Scott and tries to look discreet as he wipes his spit-slick hand on his friend’s clothed thigh. Scott whines and slaps Stiles’s hand a little too hard in retaliation. Stiles yells out and pulls the afflicted limb towards his chest, pouting. 

Derek rolls his eyes at their antics and picks up a book from the cognac-stained coffee table—also chosen by Stiles, who was actually a decent interior designer if he did say so himself—flipping it open to a random page, obviously trying to tune Scott and Stiles out.

Not that Stiles cares. He glares at the alpha and sits up straighter, squaring his shoulders and raising his head in false confidence. “$100.”

One of Derek’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rises in question, though he doesn’t look up from the book. Stiles can’t see the cover through Derek’s thick fingers— _so thick, fuck,_ no _Stiles, dead puppies_ —but the title seems to be something like “Bond of Hatred,” which causes his brain to short circuit. There is no way Derek, of all people, reads sappy-ass purple prose filled romance novels. It has to have been a joke, something Cora left behind to torture her brother. There’s no way...

“Only $100?” Is Derek’s answer.

Stiles blinks back into awareness and clears his throat, shifting his wide eyes from the book in the man’s hands to the landscape painting of a dark forest under a full moon, that Stiles had _also_ purchased with the alpha’s limitless card, (knowing that the joke wouldn’t fly over their clever alpha’s head) back to Derek, who is watching him with furrowed brows.

Stiles’s voice cracks on his answer. He tries his best not to grimace or allow his cheeks to redden any further. “$100 is a lot for a broke former-student. I just graduated, Derek. I’ve got thousands in slowly increasing loans; cut me some slack.” 

He wonders briefly, if Scott or Derek can smell his embarrassment, or his barely concealed arousal. It was just—Derek had really nice hands, and a really nice body, and also a _very_ nice face. And Stiles may have had a crush on him since high school, but that’s beside the point.

“Yeah, dude, Stiles hasn’t even found a job yet. It’s only been six months since graduation,” Scott argues. Which, ouch, alright, _thanks buddy but you’re really not helping_. Derek’s frown deepens. “And he’s applied for like, a million places—”

Stiles slaps a hand over Scott’s mouth and tries not to scream when his best friend’s disgusting tongue darts out to lick it. He doesn’t pull away, though, for fear of Scott’s continued rambling about Stiles’s sad life. “So, $100?”

“Okay,” Derek agrees, his brows no longer wrinkled in concern. “I wonder what I’ll spend my $100 on.”

“Hopefully some pillows for this lumpy ass couch,” Stiles complains, punching at the cushions. “Or better yet, a new couch.”

“Let’s make it $1,000 then,” Derek’s lips begin to twitch in amusement. “If you want me to get a new couch, you can pay for it.”

“ _Ass._ ” Stiles hisses and crosses his arms over his chest indignantly. He should have bought the couch when he had the chance, before he'd gotten caught up in the deep dark recesses of Amazon. “I’ll get you good, just you wait.”

The alpha is full-on smirking then, and says “I’d like to see you try.”

Stiles can’t decide whether he wants to slap the condescending smile off the man’s beautiful face, or kiss him. Derek isn’t even attracted to him, has never really paid attention to him, anyway, save for the few times he has paid attention long enough to slam Stiles’s head into something.

Stiles shifts uncomfortably and feels his dick slowly coming to life, twitching against his thigh. _Why does this always happen at the worst times?_

 _Dead puppies, disappointed fathers, naked grandma._ He grimaces at the last part, looking anywhere but at Derek, who continues to watch him over the top of his stupid book. The alpha’s eyes are green, when he isn’t shifted, and Stiles would never admit to anyone but his right hand that green is his favorite color on Derek. _Anything but kissing that dumbass, his sculpted chest, broad shoulders... Did he just lick his lips? Anything but his lips._ **_Naked grandma._ **

Stiles swallows thickly, shakes away the horrifying image of bare old ladies, and is happy to note his dick is no longer interested. He does not look at Scott, who seems too busy texting Kira to have noticed, anyway, and he sure as hell does not look at Derek. Not when Stiles is sitting across from the alpha, unable to keep his pants from stirring. 

Instead, he glares at the book in Derek’s hands, at the now visible cover photo— _Fabio, is that you?_ —and begins to plot Derek’s demise.

`

It’s a Friday night and Stiles is over at Derek’s apartment early, an hour before the rest of the pack is supposed to come over, to test his first prank. It’s stupid, and he knows it, but Stiles has got to start somewhere, so he begins with a classic: a whoopee cushion.

It’s the most harmless prank he can think of. Not that he had wanted to do anything truly harmful in the first place, but he feels that a bag of air that makes farting noises is a good way to ease into it.

“Movie night starts at eight, Stiles,” Derek says from the kitchen doorway. He’s drenched in sweat, his grey t-shirt sticking to his chest and arms. His hair is plastered to his forehead. Perspiration trickles down his temples and down his neck, disappearing past the collar of his shirt. “It’s seven.”

“I’m not allowed to come hang with my favorite werewolf before everyone else gets here?” Stiles asks, attempting to turn his focus to the pile of tasteless car magazines strewn across the coffee table. He has to look away from Derek, from the way his adam’s apple is bobbing as he gulps down a glass of water, because all Stiles can imagine is the way his throat would do the same around a certain appendage that is trying, valiantly, to rise in his pants. _It’s a good thing I pulled a few off this morning,_ he thinks, _or I’d be crawling into a hole right about now._

Derek swallows the last of his water and grins, a show of teeth that would look feral if Stiles didn’t know any better, but he does now. The alpha is making fun of him. 

Stiles should feel put off but somehow he doesn’t. Maybe because it’s Derek and Derek is… well, Derek.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, walking towards Stiles, who finally notices Derek’s loose basketball shorts now that his bottom half is at eye-level. The alpha is very obviously not wearing underwear beneath them, if the outline of something long and bulging down the leg is any indicator. It bounces against the fabric with each step forward. Stiles has to fight a whimper at the sight and quickly grabs a pillow to put over his lap, hopefully nonchalantly, as he leans over to grab a magazine from the table. He needs a distraction. “I’m not going to fall for it.”

Stiles smiles despite the fact that he feels like screaming _why does this asshole have to be so gorgeous?_ “Fall for what, pray tell?”

Stiles watches as Derek rolls his eyes for what might be the trillionth time in his life, throwing his sweat-soaked towel over his shoulder. He would never admit it, but Stiles has really enjoyed watching Derek grow into an adult who has some sort of control over his emotions. The alpha’s eyebrows are no longer permanently pressed into a furry, angry line, and his lips have actually learned to curl into something other than a sneer.

What Stiles has no problem admitting is that he (and the rest of the pack, sure, whatever) has played a major part in Derek’s recovery. He’s pretty proud of the fact that his face is no longer acquainted with random surfaces.

“We just had this conversation last week. My memory isn’t _that_ bad,” Derek crosses his arms over his chest. His pecs seem to bulge. So do Stiles’ eyes. “Let me try that again. Why the hell are you here so early, Stiles?”

His heart skips a beat and Stiles hopes to whatever deity that the alpha wolf didn’t hear it. He wishes his entire existence wasn’t just a series of embarrassing moments filled with awkward boners. 

Thankfully Derek seems oblivious to Stiles’ current crotch situation.

“I can’t tell you,” he finally says, shrugging cooly, as if he isn’t currently pinching his thigh to try and put an end to his madness. “It’s a secret I’ll be taking to the grave.”

Derek actually laughs. Stiles basks in it, leans closer to the wolf without thinking, soaking up the sound. He still remembers the times it seemed the alpha would never sleep again without waking from a horrifying nightmare. Stiles still remembers every moment, in detail, when it seemed Derek would never learn to smile again, let alone laugh. 

If he had the choice to go back, to not go out into the woods that night, to keep Scott from being bitten, he wouldn’t. Not because he doesn’t love Scott because of course he does, but because if it hadn’t happened, Derek would still be wallowing in self-pity and sorrow, living by himself in the dilapidated ruins of his childhood home. So, yeah. Stiles doesn’t regret a thing. 

“I can smell where you’ve been, Stiles,” the alpha says, uncrossing his arms. Stiles clamps his mouth shut to hold in his sigh of relief. _Thank god Derek is so oblivious._ “I can smell what you’ve touched.” _Oh, that’ll be great fuel for my fantasies._ “You put something under the couch cushions.”

“I sit on that uncomfortable couch every time I’m here. Of course I’ve touched it.” Stiles continues to deny the accusation, even knowing what Derek is saying without having to actually say it. He did touch the couch recently, and he knows that his scent will be stronger there because of it, but he also knows something that Derek doesn’t. 

The alpha doesn't even react to Stiles's denial and instead reaches down to grab the cushion to the left, lifting it slightly to reveal the whoopie cushion underneath. He grabs the mouthpiece with the tips of his fingers and pulls it out, flinging it lightly onto the coffee table where it lands with a rubbery flop. Derek slams his hand down on top of it, pushing the air out. It makes one violent fart noise and goes flat. 

Stiles doesn’t flinch, but he expects Derek to be annoyed, at least a little, but then the alpha lifts his head to look at him. He’s grinning almost wistfully. Stiles finds himself smiling, too, stunned into an uncharacteristic silence.

“My mom used to plant these all over the house on April Fool’s,” Derek says. He stands up straight and takes his towel back in hand, rubbing it through his hair. It stands on end, heavily mussed, like a puppy after a bath. It’s fucking adorable. Stiles warms at the sight. “Laura did it, too, after we moved to New York. I came home from classes that day exhausted and hadn’t been expecting it at all. Flopped down on my bed and popped fangs at how sudden and loud it all was.”

Stiles tries not to come off as surprised, chuckling along with Derek. It may not be the first time Derek has opened up, but Stiles had yet to get used to the alpha doing so with a smile. He wonders when Derek had become comfortable enough with him to share such intimate memories. Stiles also hopes he never stops. 

“Mom used to put vaseline on the doorknobs,” he says. “It was a bitch to clean off, she’d say, but well worth our reactions. One time she switched the sugar out with salt—dad put a whole tablespoon in his coffee.” Stiles still remembers it all with absolute clarity. Mom’s snorting laughter, dad dumping his drink down the drain while attempting to chug a glass of water at the same time. The way he’d grin and pinch her side lightly. She’d jump, they’d laugh and lean in for a kiss that was all smiles. “He’d chase her around the kitchen, pin her against the counter, and tickle her until her face turned red.”

When Stiles comes back to awareness, he notices that Derek’s smile is still going strong. If anything it seems to have grown wider. His green eyes are crinkled with it. Stiles’s heart thumps against his ribcage, filled with a pleasant warmth that he refuses to think about too deeply because it will only end in awkward moments he really doesn’t want to deal with.

Stiles isn’t sure what to say, so he goes with whatever falls out of his mouth first, as usual. “So, yeah. Good times.”

Derek nods and moves back, beginning to squat as if to take a seat on the lumpy gray sofa that Stiles just can’t help shit-talking. The alpha looks as if he actually wants to continue their conversation, incredibly personal as it is. Stiles tries not to react. He bites his lip and feels guilty knowing what’s to come once Derek’s fine ass hits the cushion. 

It does, and the deepest, loudest, most painful sound tears its way through the gap between the cushions. The alpha freezes. Stiles can’t help but tear up.

Derek’s fangs are out. His eyes are wide with shock. 

Stiles sucks in a breath, presses his lips together, but it can’t hold back what is to come. Raucous laughter rips its way out of his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he wheezes. Shaking arms wrap around his torso. Tears stream down his crimson cheeks. “I’m so— oh, fuck, I’m—”

Eventually the alpha’s teeth pop back into their respective places. He isn’t smiling anymore, but he also doesn’t look like he’s about to kill Stiles... yet. It’s an obvious improvement from even a year ago. _I guess I really do grow on people._

Derek doesn’t bother asking how Stiles got it there (It was all Isaac. Pure, sweet, wonderful Isaac.) and instead pops back up and points one clawed finger at the human who, surprise surprise, doesn’t even flinch. He’s too busy trying to catch his breath.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Derek growls, pulls up the cushion, and slaps the offending rubber down on the coffee table next to the first one. “And when I’m finished, I’m going to _kill you._ ”

Stiles grins, runs a hand across his face to wipe away his tears, and says, 

_“I’d like to see you try.”_


End file.
